


Flesh & Blood & Love & Ire

by EJ (lilyeverlasting)



Series: Kitsune Tales [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: ANBU Minato, Alive Uchiha Clan, Alternate Universe - Ninjas, Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Fade to Black, Fantasy, Happy Ending, Hokage Kushina, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kitsune, LLF Comment Project, Love at First Sight, Multi, POV Alternating, Plotty, Slow Build, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-17 19:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyeverlasting/pseuds/EJ
Summary: Once upon a time, a boy fell in love with a fox. Maybe you’ve guessed the rest, but it’s probably safe to assume you’ve left out the part where the village sacrifices Sasuke Uchiha to the kitsune plaguing the village.“This champion must be skilled,” said Homura.The Hokage sucked on his pipe thoughtfully. “Intelligent.”“A shinobi of enough worth to represent this village,” Danzou rasped.Koharu leaned forward in her seat and said seriously, “And most importantly, very beautiful.”





	1. Prologue: The Mark of the Kitsune

**Author's Note:**

> None of the archive warnings applied. There will be no major character death, rape/non-con or underage elements, explicit content, or graphic violence throughout the course of this fic. The kitsune myths mentioned in this fic do not accurately portray Japanese mythology. This fic is slow build in terms of character introduction-other characters' stories *will* happen first to eventually introduce Sasuke's and Naruto's.

“Is that-!?”

“My gods.”

“Don’t look, Kenta. It’s inappropriate.”

“But, Mom!” 

“IT’S A CURSE!”

“Nah, pretty sure that’s a di-”

“-and right on the Third’s forehead too...That’s talent.”

“YOU IDIOTS! WE’RE DOOMED! DOOMED! MARKED FOR DEATH! THE KITSUNE HAS NEVER BEEN SATED, AND NOW! IT’S-IT’S-!” 

The crowd fell silent, blinking up at the marked stone face of the Third Hokage jutting out of the cliffside. A child pointed at the Third Hokage’s forehead and burst out laughing, much to her mother’s horror.

Everyone heard Kizashi Haruno call for his wife then (because it was no secret that Mebuki could kill a person with her Thursday night soup, and Kizashi figured a kitsune was no exception). And that was when everyone panicked.


	2. A Tale of Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now this wouldn’t be a story without a bit of magic, would it?

Once upon a time, a boy fell in love with a fox.

Well. Wait. Maybe I should go back a little farther now that I think about it, but curiously enough the beginning of our story doesn’t change:

Once upon a time, a boy fell in love with a fox.

It happened in the usual way, I suppose. How does love usually happen? From what I’ve gathered from every single fairy tale my parents have ever told me, it began with a single look.

A look, you say? No. I take that back, because a look is hardly enough and I’m telling the story. So maybe this love didn’t begin in the usual way at all, because the whole “looking at you” part came after the “I’m going to punch you in the gut and leave you on the road to cry like a baby after I steal your wallet” part.

Namikaze Minato was a genius.

Or, he was supposed to be. Geniuses, especially ninja geniuses who would grow up to become one of the most legendary ninja the world had ever known, don’t normally find themselves wheezing on the forest floor getting robbed. Because a genius would have realized that traveling along the border through a deep, dark forest where the bandits were worse than the mosquitoes was a bad idea when you were only twelve years old.

Minato didn’t believe in bad ideas. Or maybe he did, and he just liked to say that because he hated making mistakes, and mistakes were more bearable when you told yourself that you had every intention of making them.

But this bad idea had been a horrible idea. Because while Minato walked the dirt path through the wood to find his grandmother’s house at the end-

Or was it his grandfather’s? Or is that a different story? There are a lot of stories about a child on their way to their grandmother’s house. Anyway, the point is, he was walking through the woods by himself when he realized he wasn’t alone.

Minato became very still. He listened to his breathing, slow and even. He heard the coo of a mourning dove in the next tree over. He heard the trickle of a stream downhill and the scatter of leaves as a squirrel bounded over them. But there was something else, hidden beneath it all. Like his own shadow was breathing. (Minato will never admit to turning his head to look). Minato’s brow furrowed. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He was sure of it.

Something, or someone, was-

“Put your hands up! Do it!”

In the time it had taken Minato to turn his head and look behind him, a girl had appeared in front of him, holding the point of a dull kunai unnervingly close to his carotid artery. It was so quick and so sudden he didn’t even have the time to appreciate her speed. He swallowed. But not because it was love at first sight. I think anyone might gulp knowing that, if your carotid artery was severed, you’d bleed out and die within two to four minutes. It was even worse when you imagined it happening with a dull kunai.

“Don’t move, and put your hands up!”

Minato slowly raised his hands in surrender. He dared to look down at his assailant.

“Eyes up here, buddy!”

Minato swallowed a surprised snort. The grubby little thief only reached to his chest.

“But-”

She shoved him. “I SAID EYES UP HERE!” and she pushed herself up on her tiptoes. Minato snapped his eyes up to hers.

The little girl sneered. “Now give me your wallet.” Minato stared at her. When he didn’t move, her face burned pink as she screamed, “DO IT!”

Minato thought quickly. Lamely, he said, “You told me not to move.”

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Are you stupid?” she yelled, and Minato’s eyes followed her kunai as she carelessly waved her hands, the point of it sweeping dangerously close to the tip of his nose.

“I told you not to move, and now I’m telling you to give me your wallet. So fork it over, dumbass! Do it!” The point of her kunai wobbled. Minato stared at it dubiously. Her speed had worried him at first, but as he watched how she handled her kunai, he wondered if he’d overestimated her. She began to ramble, and Minato began to wonder where she had come from. She didn’t look like she was from the village. By now she was ranting, standing in the middle of the road like a boulder. A short, angry boulder.

She had to have been the dirtiest, grubbiest child Minato had ever seen. Even her hair, a shade of red as violent as she was, had a twig in it. Her clothes hung on her, stained rough-spun shirt reaching to her knees, as if she’d stolen it off a farmer (she had). Her pants were no better, held together with twine at her waist, the ends chopped off at her knees, and she was barefoot, her toes wiggling against the dirt path every time she yelled, red from standing on tiptoe. The glint of her kunai winked in the twilight, and if Minato had paused just long enough to notice the swirls of indigo in her eyes, he couldn’t really remember. He was busy memorizing every little detail of her face to give to the police once he got out of this. He kept staring at the kunai.

“-I MEAN, WHAT ELSE DO I GOTTA DO AROUND HERE TO-”

Minato caught his breath, cocked his head, wrinkled his nose, and said, “Your form is all wrong.” He felt a lot better once he thought about it, and almost laughed at himself for being scared. “If you wanted to sever my carotid artery properly from this angle-”

She punched him in the gut before he had time to say, “Wait, I didn’t mean to insult you!” Because Minato, even though he hated admitting he could make mistakes and some might call him arrogant for that, was always polite and very insistent even at twelve that positive reinforcement was the key to confidence.

The girl stole his wallet while he wheezed on the ground (because how else was a war orphan going to make a new life for herself and become the richest person in the world if she didn’t start somewhere?) and called him a prissy boy. Minato was destined to always be gobsmackingly beautiful, and as the girl wiped her nose on her arm while he writhed she loudly said he looked like one of those poster girls on billboards you saw for stupid things like soap.

Then she said, “Don’t try running after me! You’ll never catch me, ya know! I’m Uzumaki Kushina, and I’m gonna be the greatest ninja in the world, too! You’ll never catch me no matter how hard you try, so there!” She stomped her foot, like it was law.

Bleary-eyed, Minato watched her stomp away before she lost her nerve and bolted. Now usually when people, especially ninja, get robbed, they go after that unlucky soul throwing very sharp objects. Minato disliked throwing sharp objects at people unless he absolutely had to, and he decided, reluctantly, that he could live without his wallet. It wasn’t like there had been very much money inside (although he would lose a treasured trading card with the Second Hokage on it). His stomach hurt, he’d just come back from a mission with his genin team that he hadn’t enjoyed, and he was beginning to wonder if it was right for twelve year olds to come home from missions looking and feeling just as sad or tired as the thirty-year olds he knew. He didn’t feel like running after the girl anyway. Minato rolled onto his back. He didn’t think he’d ever been punched this hard in his life by anyone his age. Feeling sulky after someone shorter than him with horrible form had managed to hit him good was definitely new.

Minato took his time standing up. He thought about going to the police and pictured the girl’s face in his mind. In the end he got to his feet with a groan and kept walking to his grandfather’s house. A mile later, he found his wallet, unopened, sitting next to the stream that cut through the wood. He found the girl not too far away under the dappled shade of an oak watching the sunset.

It was hard to be a good thief when you felt bad about stealing.

It was even harder trying to act tough when you couldn’t remember calling someone prissy without hanging your head in shame. Even if you had meant it a little.

Minato twiddled his thumbs and stared at the inky blot of her up on the hill before steeling himself.

“Hey!”

She leaped to her feet, hands balled into fists, and peered down at him from her spot on the hill. And for a moment that’s all they did: stare at each other. Minato gulped. The girl scowled.

“What? You wanna fight or something?”

Minato blinked and stammered, “N-no.”

She huffed, like she was disappointed. “Whatever. I’d kick your ass anyway.” She turned away before looking back at Minato. She battled with herself, turning away from him then turning back to him, twice, three times, before she finally gave up and demanded, “Did you find your stupid wallet?”

Minato beamed, fishing it out of his pocket and waving it over his unruly blond head. “Yeah! Thanks!”

Her eyes narrowed into small slits. She nodded at him, jutting out her pointed chin. “I punched you in the stomach for that, ya know.”

Minato sheepishly pocketed his wallet and wondered if this was another bad idea. His stomach ached-because Kushina had a wicked punch, and he was sure it was going to leave a bruise. He shifted from foot to foot. “But...you gave it back. And you didn’t take anything. So....Thanks.”

Kushina wiped her nose on her arm again and waved him off. “Yeah. Whatever. You didn’t have anything good in there anyway, ya know!” She disappeared over the hillside. Minato fought with himself, taking a few steps back toward the road before making up his mind. He made the steep climb to the top of the hill.

He found her sitting under the oak tree, her chin on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs. She glared at him when he plopped down in the grass next to her.

“You could have bought ice cream.”

She looked shifty under the dappled light, like a little fox. Minato saw her eyes drift to his pocket.“How much of it?”

He scratched at the back of his head as he thought. “I had enough for...one baby cone.”

She snorted, short and loud.

He smiled at her. She stuck her tongue out at him, so he pulled a face. Kushina snorted again, beet red, and looked away, hacking up a lung.

Minato was sure that really, she was laughing behind all those honking coughs. Then she shoved him when he tried giving her the few coins in his wallet, and he went toppling down the hill.

And that was how Namikaze Minato met Uzumaki Kushina. She eventually said sorry for pushing him down the hill. And for punching him in the gut, but it was a good while later. She never did apologize for calling him prissy.

There’s much more the story, but to get to the good part, we’ll end with: and then they fell in love. Later in life, of course, after a couple fumbling forays into romance. Twelve years old isn’t exactly the best age to devote yourself romantically to one person for the rest of your life. Anyway, and so they fell in love. Like every other man and woman who ever exchange eye contact in a fairy tale.

It had to have been a little more complicated than that, you might say. And I guess it was.

It was some months before Minato saw Kushina again. He was with his sensei in the village square buying popsicles (because it had been an excruciating summer that year) when the little orphan girl he remembered was paraded through the village along with a crowd of war refugees. Minato looked at her. Kushina looked at him.

When he smiled at her, she grinned back at him, and just as Minato’s heart began to beat a little faster as he waved, she waved back at him with her middle finger raised.

Jiraiya nearly choked on his popsicle laughing. The father behind them squawked and tried to shield all five of his daughters’ eyes at once. Someone else said, “They’ll let anyone into the village these days.” Minato stood stock still, his popsicle melting over his fingers.

He was only slightly more shocked when he saw her racing alongside a genin team a month later, chasing a cat. She noticed him watching, stopped running even when everyone else sped past her, and this time, she shrugged and waved, with all five fingers.

Dumbstruck, Minato waved back.

 

* * *

 

 

Anyone who wanted to know Uzumaki Kushina should know this:

She was as fiery as she was funny, and she was as brutal as she was kind. Which was a strange balance of traits if you thought about it. If you can imagine someone aggressively caring about you, you’ve pegged Kushina correctly.

Minato had endured her lectures and concerned shouting more than once (“get back in bed! Do you want to DIE because you didn’t listen to the medic?! Someone literally PUT A KNIFE BETWEEN YOUR RIBS OH MY GOD SIT YOUR ASS DOWN BEFORE I CARRY YOU BACK TO BED”), especially when he wouldn’t stay in bed after sustaining injuries from missions. Once he had defied his doctor’s orders and limped all the way to the Hokage Tower to turn in a report. Kushina had found him, lifted him over her shoulder while he squeaked, and carried him home like a damsel. Uchiha Mikoto, Kushina’s best friend since she'd been thirteen years old, had also seen this firsthand. Kushina was viciously protective of Mikoto, who had been her first friend-and who was her closest friend, next to Minato of course. Minato had admitted once, after too many drinks, that he was still a little jealous; after all, Mikoto, not Minato, had been Kushina’s first love. Mikoto’s husband, Fugaku,  on the other hand, was used to her more mischievous side.

“She’s vile,” he’d tell you flatly if you ever bothered to ask. But he also would have told you this even if you’d never mentioned Kushina at all.

“She’s immature, but Mikoto never listens to me.” Now Fugaku only said this because he had been at the brunt end of Kushina’s pranks many, many times. Like the time Kushina had been a witness to the signing of his and Mikoto’s marriage certificate (along with every important family member Fugaku had AND an Uchiha elder) and Kushina had handed him an exploding pen. To that day Fugaku had never been able to prove it, and Mikoto never believed him. Or there had been the time he and Mikoto had first moved into their house together, and Kushina had helped unpack. Later. when Fugaku had risen to use the bathroom, he’d sat on a sticky toilet seat lathered in honey. He’d cursed her ninja training, because she must have studied him for weeks just for that moment. That same morning, he’d tried to stomp to the bathroom again and had walked into plastic wrap-

But you get the idea.

“She’s been my best friend since I was thirteen, Fugaku,” Mikoto would say. “She’s harmless.”

She wasn’t, not if you asked her sensei, her team, other ninja who’d been unlucky enough to spar with her, or Minato, who lived with her.

Kushina wasn’t harmless. If she had been, she would have never been nominated for Hokage. She was more like a vicious, blunt force who sometimes liked to bake. She was, I believe, the first Hokage ever, to rise to the seat without having killed an enemy once during the war prior to her ascension, and the first woman Hokage in the village’s history. She had, after all, promised that everyone would know her name. She just hadn’t expected the title of Hokage to come with it.

And so, Konoha was plunged into a new age.

And so was Minato, who’d made the ANBU special ops forces by that time, and who everyone also knew as the Yellow Flash thanks to the war. Because like a real life superhero, Minato had perfected a space-time jutsu that allowed instant teleportation. He thanked his hero worship of the Second Hokage for it. The Hiaishin it was called. Minato was, after all, a genius. And so, Minato and Kushina married, bought a house together, and then one bright October morning two years after that, had a son together.

It was all fine and dandy and pleasantly boring, until Minato discovered Kushina’s secret. Now this wouldn’t be a story without a bit of magic, would it?

 

Eleven months later, the village lay washed out and pale beneath a cold autumn sky. The night was quiet, the kind of quiet you get after a day of festivals and midnight house parties the neighbors call the police on you for later. Kushina’s inauguration had left the village in a state of celebration and inebriation.

The Hokage’s husband, now an ANBU commander, lay fast asleep in their bed.

Minato woke suddenly, choking on the snore lodged in his throat. He stared at up at the ceiling, contemplating life and who he was, as everyone who’s ever been jarred awake from a dreamless sleep often does, and felt that something was...wrong.

He sat up slowly, blinking away the grit in his eyes. The left side of the bed was empty. The dip in the mattress that usually cradled around Kushina was still warm. Minato shivered.

Any other night Minato might have hit snooze on the alarm five minutes early. He would have met his team at the ANBU base for a routine 3 AM border patrol. But it wasn’t any other night-because Minato had the night off. And also because he felt strange. His heart was beating quickly in his chest. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and goosebumps pebbled his skin, until he was reminded of past battles and wars that he would never be able to scrub himself clean of. He shivered, placing a hand on his chest and gulping down a breath. The room seemed to constrict, collapse on top of him as his panic mounted and grew, a living thing that sometimes slithered out of the darkest corners of his nightmares until it coiled around him and made him remember it had never died.

“Kushina?” Minato gasped, but their apartment in the Hokage Tower was quiet. There were no footsteps in the hall, no glow of light bleeding in from under the closed bedroom door. Minato sat in bed swallowed by the night shadows. He shivered again. His heart raced faster. His hands trembled. He reached for the kunai he always kept under his pillow when a shadow slipped over the bed.

He swore at himself, rubbing at his eyes. A cat had jumped onto the little balcony outside the bedroom, staring through the sliding glass doors near the bed. The cat meowed, its eyes winking like lanterns in the dark. It was an orange tabby with a mischievous glint in its eye. Minato thought again of Kushina.

“Kushina,” he whispered, closing his eyes and waiting for the panic in his chest to shift its weight, to turn into something he could bear. Down the hall, Naruto began to cry. Minato drew in a steadying breath and rolled out of bed. Any other night, Minato would have sleepily formed a few hand seals, his hiraishin jutsu teleporting him instantly inside his son’s room. Kushina had laughed when he’d placed a mark on the wall.

But as I've already told you, that night was no ordinary night. Minato’s nerves were frayed. His heart was beating like a hummingbird, and the rumble of the radiator made him reach for his kunai.

Minato opened his bedroom door.

The hallway yawned open like the mouth of a beast. It looked darker than Minato had ever remembered it being. Naruto cried louder. Minato swallowed and said, “Kushina?” in a muffled voice. No one answered. He looked down the hallway with eyes cut to slits, and the ninja inside him turned a switch in his brain, cooling the panic he was used to waking to after the Third Great War.

Something was wrong.

He inched his way toward Naruto’s nursery. He gripped his kunai tighter. The baby screamed, and Minato fought the urge to rush into the nursery. He paused by the door, eyes stinging. He nearly took another step before he saw it, and his breath caught painfully in his throat.

Etched into the lower right corner of Naruto’s door was a barrier seal. Intricate and complicated. Minato studied it silently. A part of him feared that old enemies had finally come for him, for Kushina, for their son. Someone hadn’t expected him to use the door. It took ten seconds for him to work it out. Ten long seconds for Minato to form a few hand seals, then reach out and turn the barrier seal on the floor like the knob of a safe. It was only thanks to Kushina’s knowledge on sealing jutsus, and his insistence that she teach him, that he was able to do anything at all. A cold sweat iced over Minato’s upper lip. There was a chance this wouldn’t work. A character disappeared, then another, and the remaining characters that formed the seal turned like a little clock, and Minato released a breath. He’d made a little path, just a little one, without destroying the barrier. You never knew if these sorts of things had a link to their creator to alert them when they disappeared. A tripwire.

Naruto’s wails bubbled into hiccups.

Minato reached for the door, his kunai promising death. He slipped into the room like a shadow and froze. Naruto was sitting up in his crib, his hands reaching toward Kushina. She was hunched over the crib, singing softly. She turned her head when she felt the air in the room shift, but it was already too late.

Minato stared at the fox peering into his son’s crib on its hind legs, front paws perched on the rails, snout hovering just above Naruto’s blond head. The baby laughed, grabbing at the fox’s whiskers before he yawned, rubbing his eyes. He tipped backward and babbled. When Minato blinked again, it was only Kushina staring at him, her fingers curled around the crib rails.

“Oh, Minato,” she said. “No.” Her voice was too tight, too choked. She stood haloed by the green and blue stars spinning from Naruto’s night light, her face too white, her eyes too wide and too dark. Naruto rolled himself over and sat up again, whining for Kushina.

Everyone knows that when a human discovers the identity of their kitsune lover, that the jig is up. The trickster disappears, and the human wakes up in the place they first met, ripped of the memories of the life they shared. Sometimes they would remember later. Sometimes they wouldn't. Minato knew the legends. His grandfather used to say he’d been tricked by one when he was young. Then he would say nothing at all, and stare somewhere far away Minato couldn't see.

Minato looked at his son. At his wife. The possibility that he suddenly might not remember either of them made his hands shake.

He ran to her.

Kushina stumbled away from him, and her grief bent her in half. She held up her hands like a shield. “No. It’s done, Minato.”

“I won’t let you go,” he whispered, and reached for her, wrapping himself around her tightly even as she gripped his shoulders to hold him back. Any other day it would have worked. Minato might have sailed backward until he crashed through the bedroom door if she pushed hard enough, but Kushina’s heart wasn’t in it. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, her hair veiling her face, her head angled away from him like she couldn’t bear to look at him. A pained sound gurgled at the back of her throat, and Minato pressed his face into her hair. Maybe if he held her tight enough, he could keep her there, with him. Somewhere, a dog barked. Kushina grew rigid in his arms.

“Don’t go,” he begged, squeezing his eyes shut. He kept thinking _remember, remember, remember_ , in tune with each frantic beat of his heart, wondering if Kushina would already be gone once he opened his eyes, if he would forget his son, leaving him alone in the nursery. He looked back at Naruto fearfully, gripping Kushina tighter. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“You’re the Hokage. The Hokage! You can figure a way out of this!”

Kushina didn’t tell him that no one had ever figured a way out of it. This was fate. Destiny, and there was no greater power than that. Something crashed against Naruto’s window, and Minato’s stomach jolted. Naruto screamed, and Minato rushed over to him while Kushina hurried to the window. Minato gathered Naruto in his arms, looking over his shoulder. It was the tabby tom from earlier, perched on the windowsill. The cat hissed before leaping away into the night. Outside, the dog was still barking. Minato kissed Naruto’s brow, placing him back in the crib before joining Kushina by the window. He reached for her hand. She twisted out his hold, pushing the window open to poke her head outside. Minato swore he thought he heard her hiss. The dog barked louder. 

“Go away!” She grabbed for the flowerpot on the windowsill and hurled it. The pot shattered against the fence. The ANBU resting on the roof stirred. The dog whined and howled, and Kushina swore viciously, rubbing her arms. She ran toward Naruto’s crib, as if she was burning the memory of him into her mind. Naruto reached for her.

“Ma!”

In the hall, Minato heard the voices of Kushina’s security detail. They had noticed the seal by the door. Kushina rushed forward to reseal it, and the officers shouted.

“My Lady!”  A  _thud_ sounded by the window, and Kushina whirled around. An ANBU officer was squatting on the windowsill.

"My Lady," he said again, "We thought-" Kushina shook her head, raising her arms. An energy pulsed through the room, and Minato gasped at the feeling of it. The ANBU officer in the window seemed to go limp. He dropped. In the hall, the security detail fell silent.

"What-?"

“I don't want to forget,” Kushina whispered, looking back to Naruto’s crib. “I don’t want to forget how he feels in my arms, or even the way he smells…” Her voice trailed, her eyes glassy and unblinking. The dog outside howled. Minato looked out down into the yard below. The dog was alone, launching itself at the fence, snarling and snapping. It jumped suddenly, sailing over the fence into the yard, and somewhere far off, Minato heard another howl. And another. He stepped away from the window, dread sinking his stomach. The dogs in the yard meant something terrible, he knew, and they began to skirt around the tower. They crept out of alleys, broke out of their yards, ran away from their houses to crowd and bark and leap at the fence. Minato closed the window, shutting the curtains. The night grew louder. The dogs foamed at the mouth. Kushina flinched as they howled, jerking her hand away from Naruto’s head.

Dogs hate foxes.

Kushina pressed desperate kisses to Naruto’s forehead, then in two quick strides was standing before Minato, cradling his cheek with her hand. “I don’t want to forget you.”

Minato gathered her in his arms again. Green and blue stars spun over the walls until the room seemed to shift. Minato shut his eyes and ground out, “Don’t go.”

The streetlights in front of the Hokage tower burned out. The nursery felt darker. Down the road, two Uchiha officers chasing after a pack of dogs picked up a drunk lost in an alley who swore he saw a demon climbing over the village gate. On the other side of the village, Mikoto suddenly woke in her bed and ran into her sons’ room to touch her oldest son’s forehead and hover over her infant son’s crib. She would never be able to say what it was that woken her that night, or what it was that had frightened her.

The barks turned into howls, and the howls into bays that could have reached the moon.

Kushina closed her eyes. She had unsheathed her claws. They were pricking at Minato’s skin. He stared at them. Snarling, Kushina ran for the window again. She clapped her hands over her ears, yelling at the dogs. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” She turned to look at Minato.

“Close the window,” he urged, afraid to step too far away from Naruto’s crib, but Kushina didn't move. She only stared at him, wild-eyed. “Kushina, please-!” He didn’t remember how she moved from the window to right in front of him, but suddenly she was there. He only remembered how she pressed her cheek against his, her hand cradling the back of his head, her lips dragging over his skin as she whispered, “Don’t run after me. You’ll never catch me.”

Minato lunged after the fox that wriggled out of his hold, bolting for the open window. He paused only to sweep a frightened glance over his son, who was watching with wide, blue eyes. "I'll be right back, Naruto, " he promised. "I’ll be right back."

Naruto began to cry.

“Kushina!”

The fox perched on the windowsill paused. She turned her head to look at the baby one last time. Her whiskers quivered. Minato looked at the black hiraishin mark he’d left on her shoulder. Down below, the dogs were throwing themselves at the tower as if they could scale it. Lights winked in the streets, one by one. 

Kushina leaped away and disappeared. Minato looked back at Naruto as he activated _hiraishin_.

And then he was gone.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So...what happened next?”

“Was the baby all alone? Babies should _never_ be left all alone what was he thinking?!”

“Duh, Udon! Sensei, do we really have to listen to the rest of this?” Konohamaru slumped over his desk with a sigh. “Why is Ebu-sensei so late?” he whined. “It’s our first mission!” He ignored the wad of paper Moegi threw at his head.

Shikamaru sighed, leaning back in his chair. “This is the thanks I get for keeping kids after class and entertaining them,” he muttered, reaching for the cigarette peeking out of the chest pocket of his green flak jacket. "Ungrateful."

“Hey! You’re not supposed to smoke in here!” Moegi jabbed a finger at him. Shikamaru sucked on his unlit cigarette.

“Class got out twenty minutes ago,” he said, but made no move to light it. Moegi scowled and sat back down with a huff. She bobbed her knees impatiently, twirling one of her auburn pigtails around a finger.

Shikamaru watched the clock. It mocked him. Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five minutes late. Outside the sky was a slate-gray, not a cloud to watch through the classroom’s only window. Far away, thunder rumbled ominously.

 _How troublesome_ , he thought, and leaned back in his chair. He hated getting his feet wet. He closed his eyes. The clock ticked on. 

“Are you going to finish the story, or what?” Konohamaru asked. Shikamaru opened his eyes. Konohamaru glared at him.

Shikamaru shrugged. “I thought you didn't want to listen anymore.”

Konohamaru scoffed, letting his chin fall back down on his desk, his arms resting around his head like a moat. “That doesn’t mean you stop in the middle! Why would she live her life out as a person anyway if something like that could happen? That's so stupid!”

Shikamaru plucked his cigarette from his lips. He rolled it between his fingers while he counted ceiling tiles in his head, and said, “Some people go to great lengths to achieve their dreams. No matter the risks.” Konohamaru rolled his eyes and played with his pencil halfheartedly. He might have mumbled something like, “I have dreams.”

“So what is the moral of the story, Shikamaru-sensei?” asked Udon, because every story the Academy ever taught or told had a moral hiding behind it. It wasn’t a story without one. Udon wiped his nose on his arm. Shikamaru sighed and pretended he hadn’t noticed. When Udon thought Shikamaru still wasn't looking, he jammed a finger up his nose, trying to hide it by looking out the window. Shikamaru wrinkled his nose, which tingled. He looked down at his cigarette and sighed.

“Well-”

“The moral, children,” said a voice, and the children jumped in surprise, swiveling around in their seats to stare at the bandaged old man who limped into the room. They winced as he spoke, like many people did. He had a voice that rasped and rumbled. “Is that you could have everything you ever wanted in life, but if you aren't honest to your loved ones, and most importantly, to your country, a lie will cost you everything one day.”

Shikamaru sighed deeply. Shikamaru did a lot of sighing these days. Mostly because of people like Shimura Danzou.

Shikamaru could have said, “That’s not what I was going to say” but he said nothing. The children grew wide-eyed. Moegi pursed his lips and twirled her pigtails. Konohamaru was silent. Udon picked his nose. Outside, rain began to fall. The lights in the classroom flickered, like the gray sky was sucking away everything bright the rain couldn’t touch. Danzou’s one dark eye fell on Shikamaru, narrowing in distaste.

Shikamaru rose stiffly from his desk and bowed. “Lord Danzou,” he said, a little reproachfully. A lot of things Shikamaru said sounded reproachful, so Danzou said nothing. Shikamaru shot the kids a sharp look and they scrambled to their feet.

“Lord Danzou,” they called in unison, mimicking their teacher.

Danzou harrumphed. “Are you doing anything worthwhile in this classroom, Nara?” His eye fell on the children until they squirmed. “You’re wasting their time with stories when you could have been going over the etiquette they so clearly lack. And get that finger out of your nose, boy! An Academy graduate does _not_ pick their nose.”

Udon squeaked and plucked his finger from his right nostril so quickly his eyes watered.

Shikamaru frowned. “Class ended over twenty minutes ago. Their jounin sensei is running late.” He didn’t say 'sir'. Men like Danzou thrived off being called 'sir'. Danzou’s battle-scarred face was uglier when he scowled.

Danzou hummed, as if Shikamaru’s answer meant anything to him. “Well, then they’ll need to find appropriate supervision until their sensei arrives. You have been summoned, Nara. Come with me.”

Shikamaru froze. Something stabbed through his chest. Trepidation, maybe, or suspicion-he wasn’t going to think it was fear. He shook himself free of it almost as quickly as he felt it, and looked to his students, who were still standing respectfully in front of their desks. Danzou had already turned away, his cane smacking against the decades-old lime green linoleum.

“Shikamaru-sensei,” Udon whispered, and Danzou stopped walking as he listened, “What happened to the baby?”

“It died,” Danzou answered flatly. Moegi recoiled, Udon’s face fell, and Konohamaru frowned. Shikamaru sighed again.

“This is a horrible story,” muttered Udon, grim-faced.

“The demon child called upon the Kyuubi no Kitsune, harbinger of death. That’s what happens to little half-breeds when they realize they are alone. They cry, and their keeper comes.” Danzou bared his teeth like an animal when he said _half-breeds_. Shikamaru hid his scowl.

“If it weren’t for the fourth Hokage-” and Danzou said _the fourth Hokage_ like it was something he expected people to repeat and remember, “well. If it weren't for him, the village would have been decimated.”

“But-” Moegi started, her voice dying under Shikamaru's withering look. She bit her lip. Shikamaru released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I-I thought it was just a story,” muttered Konohamaru, and he avoided Shikamaru’s glare.

“It is,” answered Danzou, and the children glanced at each other in confusion. “Nara!” Danzou barked, “Come.”

“There’s an umbrella in the broom closet,” Shikamaru said, patting each of their heads as he passed. He could feel their eyes on his back as he closed the classroom door.

“I expect you to give me the name of the jounin assigned to their team,” Danzou began as the door closed with a soft click. Shikamaru bit the inside of his cheek.

“Of course.” Danzou stared at him, waiting, but Shikamaru did not say “sir”. Danzou’s lip curled.

“Come, Nara. We’re late.”

Shikamaru allowed himself a small smile. He hoped the children shared the umbrella.


	3. A Mysterious Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...The Chief of Police sat scowling. His was a face Shikamaru would expect at a secret meeting involving the Hokage, but his youngest son seated at his right left Shikamaru with a few questions.

A day like the one Shikamaru was having usually ended one way.

 

The rain fell harder, the sky grew darker, and Shikamaru tried to gather his thoughts, but his heart was beating too hard. His mind wandered, cataloguing alleyways, the movement of the crowd, Danzou’s confident steps. He thought of assassins, kunai hidden up sleeves, and fingers twitching to form seals. He bit the inside of his cheek, scanning the faces of everyone he passed, looking for a sign. A twitch. A sidelong glance.

 

No one looked at him.

 

A shrill scream made him flinch, but when he looked it was only a gaggle of children, shrieking with laughter as they darted down the street. Danzou waved his cane and they shrieked louder.

 

“Where are their _mothers,”_ he growled.  Shikamaru watched the children disappear in the crowd, blinking when Danzou smacked his cane against the ground “Step lightly, Nara.” He marched through the streets like the leader of a funeral procession, and Shikamaru lingered two steps behind.

 

They walked through the older neighborhoods of the village, with its patchwork apartments and stooped, too-close and too-tall houses, hole-in-the-wall businesses, market stands and kiosks littered along narrow, muddy streets. The smell of earth and livestock and frying oil mingled with the rain. When Shikamaru saw the village wall looming in the distance, he brushed aside the nervous twinge sparking in his gut. He pulled his hood further over his head, scowling. The rain was beginning to soak into his shoes. Shikamaru grimaced. Danzou signaled to the border patrol, and the feeling of dread intensified, brewing in his gut like an ache. Border patrol opened the gates.

 

“Sir,” they said in unison. Shikamaru released a slow, steady breath. He shivered. He followed Danzou down a dirt road that led past farms and ranches sprawled just beyond the village wall. A mile later, two chuunin were waiting for them. They stood hunched and miserable in the rain, snapping upright once they caught sight of Danzou, who nodded in greeting.

 

“SIR!” the chuunin said together. They cast quick looks at Shikamaru before turning on their heels. The dirt road stretched on for miles; past rice paddies, farms, and finally, a soybean field.

 

“This way, sir.”

 

Through the light mist, Shikamaru noticed the pillars of a gate rising in the distance. The road began to incline, and Shikamaru knew where he was.

 

The house of the Elders seemed to materialize out of the rain, until it loomed like a monster that slept with its mouth open wide, waiting for someone to walk inside. The dark gate doors opened with a groan, another pair of chuunin standing guard outside.

 

They saluted. “SIR!”

 

Danzou marched through the gate, his head held high like a general’s, out into the house’s sprawling yard and rock gardens. Shikamaru paused in the gateway. Four shapes ghosted over the roof of the house, under the cover of mist and rain.

 

Shikamaru followed their movements, hunching his shoulders. He wondered what waited for him in the house ahead. Any place guarded by Danzou’s ROOT forces was a place anyone sensible wanted to avoid. ROOT meant a lot of unfortunate and mysterious things, like a never solved murder case involving the decapitation of a well-liked grocer rumored to be selling secrets. The disappearance of a young school teacher after being interviewed by ROOT investigators the previous morning. Top-secret missions you couldn’t refuse if you wanted your family and your dog alive in the morning.

 

These were just rumors, anyone who wanted a long life would insist. Scary stories the local children liked to tell because once upon a time the servants’ children who’d grown up in the Elder house liked to say they could hear moans and cries and pleads coming from the basement at night, where prisoners were said to be kept in wire cages like chickens. But that was just a story. ROOT did a lot of good for the village. ROOT kept people safe.

 

Shikamaru doubted he would live a particularly long life, and so he didn’t care about thinking and saying things like the faces of ROOT were probably the last faces you saw before you died.

 

The gate closed behind him, and Shikamaru flinched as it groaned.

 

“Nara,” Danzou called irritably, and Shikamaru pressed forward. He kept waiting to hear the dying moans of the people locked away in the basement when the gleaming double doors opened. Shikamaru wondered if the children had left the Academy yet. He stepped through the doorway.

 

It was quiet in the foyer. Dark and gray and gleaming. Soft music drifted through the halls, an ancient instrumental of the Fire Country anthem. In a corner, a woman was waiting with folded towels, as if she’d been standing there all afternoon. She bowed her head. She was wearing a nametag that read ‘HOTARU’.

 

“Sir,” greeted Hotaru, who had voice as bland as she looked. Everything about her was gray; her eyes, her business suit, the hair limply framing her face, even her skin, which seemed to have a grimy gray hue under the light. She held out a warm towel, her mouth twisting when she turned to offer one to Shikamaru. He waved her away, and her pinched look melted away.

 

Hotaru gestured toward the hall. “This way, sir.” Danzou shuffled at her side, and Shikamaru followed them down a gloomy paneled hallway lined with oil paintings and scrolls, photographs and portraits of past Hokages. The hallway stretched on and on. The sconces mounted to the walls were dark. Once or twice, Shikamaru noticed quick moving shadows beyond the windows. A tingle of suspicion ran down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end;  someone was lurking in the hallway, watching. Shikamaru studied the windows and began to calculate every possible avenue for a quick escape.

 

He breathed in deeply through his nose.

 

Hotaru finally came to a stop before heavy wooden double doors that reached to the ceiling. She turned, just as the fire country anthem hit an accelerando. Shikamaru studied the ornate golden leaves carved into the handles warily. Danzou nodded once, and Hotaru opened the doors.

 

The Hokage turned his head on the other side.

 

“Danzou,” greeted the Third Hokage. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “And Shikamaru. Welcome.” He stood stooped before a long gleaming table, swathed in shadow, his pipe between his lips.

 

Shikamaru blinked in surprise.

 

“Lord Third,” he acknowledged, bowing his head. Of all the secrets he’d expected to find waiting for him in the Elder House after being summoned by Danzou, the Third Hokage in a dark study had been the last one he’d expected. He let his gaze wander, studying the grim faces of those that had gathered.

 

The two village elders were no surprise. Utatane Koharu and Mitokado Homura sat rigid and angry in their tall-backed seats, their expressions severe. They were flanked by the leaders of the Hidden Leaf’s oldest and most influential clan leaders. Shikamaru spotted his own father seated at the end of the table. Shikaku inclined his head, achieving a look that was both bored and grave. Shikamaru sighed. Across from his father, Uchiha Fugaku, leader of the village’s second largest and oldest clan and the Chief of Police, sat scowling. His was a face Shikamaru would expect at a secret meeting involving the Hokage, but his youngest son seated at his right, left Shikamaru with a few questions.

 

Sasuke met his glance with a dead-eyed glare, and Shikamaru averted his eyes.

 

“Now that we are finally all gathered,” the Hokage began, “I believe we can begin.” He accepted the seat Hotaru obediently pulled out for him at the head of the table. Danzou took a seat at his right, imposing and gray with the afternoon shadows.

 

Shikamaru frowned, sweeping a gaze across the table. No one explained. No one spoke. The Hokage cleared his throat. Shikamaru sat.

 

“I hope we have all reached a consensus-”

 

“Not at all,” snapped Elder Koharu, the line of her mouth flat and harsh.

 

Yamanaka Inoichi laughed through his nose, like the meeting was a lost cause, and Akimichi Chouza grumbled violently under his breath. Shikaku sighed, and Shikamaru waited.

 

“My nephew,” said Hyuuga Hiashi, in his clipped, cold voice, “would be an excellent choice. He is skilled. Intelligent. Loyal. Allow the Hyuuga clan to aid you, my Lord.” Hiashi’s nephew, Shikamaru noticed, was conspicuously absent. The clan heads muttered and looked shiftily at each other. Uchiha Fugaku whispered to his son. Sasuke said nothing, only nodded. 

 

Hiashi turned a cool white eye toward Uchiha before looking to the Hokage. "My Lord."

 

“A vote,” said the Hokage, and he glanced at Shikamaru apologetically. “Only clan heads and elders may vote.” Shikamaru searched again for his father, but Shikaku was in a heated, whispered discussion with Akimichi and Yamanaka.

 

Elder Homura’s face twisted with an ugly sneer before he slapped a hand down and boomed, “For Hyuuga, all in favor?”

 

Shikamaru watched as his father raised his hand, along with Akimichi, Hyuuga, Elder Homura, and Yamanaka. Fugaku looked murderous. Sasuke’s jaw tightened, the only crack in his mask. Danzou’s deeply lined face seemed to swallow his eyes as he scowled.

 

The Hokage looked quickly around the table before continuing, “For Uchiha, all in favor?” Fugaku raised his hand, and so did Danzou, who allowed a small stretch of a smile to part his lips.

 

In the end, the vote stood four to five, with the Hokage yet to vote. Sasuke began to look paler, but his mask never slipped. There was something grim about him; a glint sparking in his dark eyes, and Shikamaru knew something out of the ordinary was happening. Maybe, he wondered, something fatal. Just as quickly as the meeting had begun, it ended, and the Hokage motioned for his guests to leave, ordering Shikamaru to stay behind. Shikaku glanced at his son warily, and Shikamaru nodded. _I’ll be fine,_ he thought, and Shikaku seemed to understand. He squeezed Shikamaru’s shoulder as he passed.

 

When the room had emptied, the Hokage lit his pipe, the room filling with clouds of smoke and the heady smell of cherry flavored tobacco. Shikamaru waited. And waited. Five minutes passed, and then the Hokage sighed. “You must be wondering why we’ve called you here.”

 

“My Lord.”

 

“It has not gone unnoticed,” continued the Hokage, his eyes closed as he leaned back into his seat, “that you have excelled in your work. Your academy test scores are some of the best we’ve seen in fifty years. You were the only student in your graduating class to pass the chuunin exams on your first attempt. You climbed to the rank of chuunin quickly, yet your reasons for not yet requesting an evaluation for a promotion when you have more than the required number of recommendations eludes me. Is it your teaching position at the Academy? Even that you did young, and well. At nineteen you were the youngest instructor I’d instated in years...since the Third Great War when we were short on staff. The past four years at the academy have been treating you well then, I take it?”

 

Shikamaru nodded once.

 

Danzou made a small, indifferent noise. Shikamaru ignored him. He let the Hokage’s praise roll off of him like water on oil. Something was happening, and it was irritating Shikamaru more than he cared to admit that he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Something terrible, he thought again, remembering Sasuke Uchiha’s pale face. A few possibilities flitted through his mind, each more grand and seemingly impossible than the next.

 

The Hokage opened his eyes and leaned forward. Shikamaru held his breath.

 

“I want to offer you an apprenticeship. Consider this your opportunity for advancement, Shikamaru.” Hiruzen hunched forward in his seat, waiting for an answer. The Elders were hard to read, their faces impassive but attentive, and Shikamaru wondered if it was only because of old friendship that they had agreed. He wouldn’t have ever believed that an apprentice for the Hokage would be unanimously chosen. Shikamaru absorbed the news with a calm nod, wondering who his competition had been.

 

“Thank you, Lord Third,” he said humbly, and he meant it.

 

Apprenticeships went a long way. Even longer when the Hokage was your mentor. Shikamaru drew his gaze to the window, looking past the rain, to the tall cliffs that were smudged blue miles away.

 

“Are you surprised?” The Hokage chuckled, leisurely blowing a smoke ring.

 

Shikamaru held his tongue, his thoughts whirring. “Sir,” he said softly, bowing his head again. Danzou smiled at him from across the table, but it was the oily sort of smile that Shikamaru knew would slip from his face the moment he turned away. Danzou, he thought uneasily, was upset. And now he realized that it hadn’t been the village elders who had objected him.

 

“As my apprentice,” continued the Hokage, “and given your resume on strategy in the field, we have decided to grant you S-level clearance.” Shikamaru’s eyes widened. That was on par with an ANBU commander. In his seat, Shikamaru sat straighter. Danzou’s expression clouded.

 

“Our first order of business,” Danzou cut in, eyes pinned on Shikamaru,  “concerns the safety of the village.”

 

Shikamaru frowned. “If that is the case, this meeting was unorthodox-” Danzou held up a hand to silence him. Shikamaru looked to the Hokage, but Hiruzen only smoked his pipe.

 

“It is a...special situation.”

 

Koharu snorted. “Get on with it, Danzou,” she warned, and Danzou held up his hand again. She huffed, indignant.

 

Danzou folded his hands in his lap and allowed himself a lengthy pause. “Certainly you’re aware of the most recent case of vandalism on the Hokage faces?”

 

Shikamaru had to bite back a laugh with a cough. His eyes watered. “It’s,” he cleared his throat, “a little hard to miss.”

 

Danzou leaned back in his chair, nodding. “We have reason to believe that our village has been breached.”

 

Shikamaru blinked in surprise. “You believe,” he said slowly, feeling ridiculous, “that we have an _enemy_ who breached the village walls and then...chose to vandalize the Hokage faces?”

 

There was a tense silence.

 

“Of course not!” Koharu exploded.

 

Homura’s scowl deepened. “Has _no one_ bothered to brief the boy? What kind of circus are you running up in that tower, Hiruzen?”

 

Danzou laughed. It was a dry, croaking sound. “ _Think,_ Nara,” he said, the grin never leaving his mouth. Shikamaru narrowed his eyes, irritated. He sifted through his thoughts. Uchiha Sasuke, tense and quiet as his father voted for him, while Hyuuga Hiashi campaigned for his nephew, Neji. The issue was large enough to warrant feedback from the village clans. An intruder in the village confident-or stupid-enough to vandalize the Hokage faces-

 

Shikamaru stared at his reflection on the polished table. Finally, he said, “This is about the kitsune.” No one confirmed or denied this. Danzou drummed his fingers on the wood.

 

“That _beast,”_ spat Koharu. “ _Defiling_ a village monument-!”

 

“The purpose of this meeting,” interjected Homura, “is to choose a worthy candidate capable of finding the kitsune.”

 

Shikamaru chanced a look at Danzou, who said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the window.

 

“And I’m here to observe?” Shikamaru asked hopefully, though he already knew the answer.

 

“Not just to learn,” said the Hokage, smoke billowing out of his nostrils like a dragon. “But to lend your opinion.”

 

Shikamaru exhaled slowly. He knew where this discussion was headed, and he’d rather not take his pick of who he thought was more worthy to die, but he’d sealed his fate the moment he accepted the Hokage’s offer. Suddenly, he didn’t want the responsibility. The idea alone sapped him of energy, made him feel tired and irritable.

 

“This champion must be skilled,” said Homura.

 

The Hokage sucked on his pipe thoughtfully. “Intelligent.”

 

“A shinobi of enough worth to represent this village,” Danzou rasped.

 

Koharu leaned forward in her seat and said seriously, “And most importantly, very beautiful.”

 

Shikamaru coughed. The silence at the table seemed to be waiting, as if everyone there was holding their breath before a jump. Shikamaru folded his hands in his lap. He thought of Sasuke again, and the hard look in his eyes.

 

“You’re willing to sacrifice someone to it to keep it out of the village.”

 

The Hokage exhaled, a put-upon sigh seeping past his lips on the clouds of tobacco smoke. “Oh, well, when you say it like _that-”_

 

“He’ll be fine.” Homura waved his hands dismissively.

 

“This isn’t a _yako,_ Nara,” Koharu fumed. “A lover can keep a fox sated. It’ll stop barging into the village, causing mischief and mayhem if it is...preoccupied. That is, if our champion doesn’t kill it first.”

 

Homura leaned forward in his seat. “Do you realize how many shops have been broken into, Nara? Stolen from? Valuable merchandise replaced with _ridiculous_ and offensive things. Everything from flowers and inventory from other stores, to animal bones and carcasses. ‘Monsters’ lurking the streets at night, scaring the citizens. Children led astray. A whole classroom once, Nara. Surely you remember? The year before you were instated. We thought they’d been kidnapped. Or killed. They were missing for _six hours_ . We had parents who believed they would be _burying_ their child.”

 

Shikamaru lowered his eyes. He thought of Moegi, Konohamaru, and Udon, the others sitting bored in his class, waiting for graduation day. His stomach churned.

 

“It may seem harmless at first,” conceded the Hokage, and Danzou rapped his fingers against the polished wood impatiently. “But I assure you, precautions are a necessity. It doesn’t take much for a being like a kitsune to move from harmless fun to...something sinister.” Hiruzen fell quiet, and Danzou turned to Shikamaru.

 

“These _creatures_ are insatiable. They crave human contact. Acknowledgement. Whether it be from a lover or an enemy. And if it does take a lover, if we present it with someone who cannot give it children…”

 

Shikamaru blinked.

 

“We won’t risk the village’s safety,” Koharu finished, and Danzou frowned. “Without children to cry for its parent’s void counterpart should the union ever fail,  the nogitsune will not be summoned.”

 

Homura nodded. “We won’t experience the catastrophe of-”

 

“Enough,” hissed Danzou, and Homura straightened in his seat, wearing a look of thinly veiled hatred. Danzou bared his teeth in an overly polite smile. He rose from his seat. “If it weren’t for the Fourth Hokage we wouldn’t be sitting here discussing it. Isn’t that right, Nara?”

 

Shikamaru felt a tremor snake up his spine. He crossed his arms.

 

“I said, Nara,” and Danzou leaned in close enough for Shikamaru to feel a puff of hot breath on his neck, “isn’t that right?”

 

“Yes,” Shikamaru drawled, looking out the window, to the distant smudges of the cliffs. Danzou leaned away from him.

 

“Namikaze Minato was a _legend._ Now, I must take my leave,” he apologized, but Danzou’s gaze never strayed from Shikamaru. “There is business I have to attend to. You already know my vote, Hiruzen. This meeting served little purpose other than to put on a show. Although I suppose we must keep the clan leaders complacent; make them believe they’re actually needed. Morale _is_ important.”

 

Shikamaru’s eyes widened, but the Hokage didn’t react. The Elders silently fumed.

 

“Thank you, Danzou,” Hiruzen said lowly. Hotaru peeled away from her corner to pull out Danzou’s chair as he rose to his feet.

 

“Nara, I want the name of the jounin who was late to pick up his team on my desk by this evening. We can’t possibly maintain a positive image if our own jounin fail to act responsibly. And expect me for class tomorrow,” he added as he shuffled toward the open doors, “I’m most interested in your history lesson.”

 

And then he was gone, leaving Shikamaru with the Elders, the Hokage, and the summer rain.

 


	4. A Study of Beauty

“What audacity!” Koharu raged, once Hotaru had slipped away like a shadow. She turned coal-black eyes onto the Third Hokage. “You have become _weak,_ Hiruzen. You mark my words, he will be the end of you. He’s not the young man you used to know! Why you continue to _believe_ there’s something redeemable about him is beyond me.” She squinted at the doors and snapped, “And yes, dear, you can run off now and report that to your master like a good little dog!” She threw a pen at the door with surprising strength, embedding it in the wood with a _thunk_. Shikamaru heard a soft creak in the hallway outside, and then nothing at all.

 

Koharu leaned back in her chair, satisfied, slipping her hands back into her belled sleeves. She dressed as importantly as a clan leader, small in her powdery blue kimono. She _clacked_ with each turn of her head, her heavy earrings bobbing viciously. “That rat thinks he can keep planting spies in this house. I won’t have it, Hiruzen!”

 

The Hokage was silent for a long moment before changing the subject, his gaze locked on the double doors. “Danzou is set on Uchiha.”

 

Homura snarled, adjusting his bifocals. “He’s _vile.”_

 

“Oh, no,” admitted Koharu, grudgingly. “He’s perfect. And that’s all I’ll give the man-he’s right about this.”

 

“Uchiha is disrespectful.”

 

“He’s _stoic_.”

 

Homura’s eyes grew comically wide, and he slapped his hands down on the table. “He’s a little shit! He’ll never please the kitsune! Stoic, you say? _Apathetic_ is more like it! Now _Hyuuga_ on the other hand, is far more palatable-”

 

“Uchiha is _beautiful!”_ argued Koharu.

 

“Uchiha is a _troll_ just for his attitude!” Homura roared, and that was when Shikamaru realized how serious this was.

 

“What do _you_ think, Shikamaru?” the Third wondered, and Shikamaru silently prayed for wisdom. Or a natural disaster.

 

“Uchiha is beautiful, isn’t he, Nara?”

 

Homura grumbled, shaking his head. “Beauty cannot account for everything! And Hyuuga is just as handsome! Maybe even _more_ so! _Isn’t he,_ Nara?”

 

Shikamaru looked at his hands helplessly. “Well, Neji is-”

 

“HA!” Homura shouted, rising from his seat. Koharu glared.

 

Shikamaru’s brow wrinkled in contemplation. “But on the other hand, Sasuke-”

 

“OH HOHO!” Koharu squealed, bouncing in her seat. Homura huffed.

 

“Perhaps,” interrupted the Third Hokage, “we should instead consider their _skills.”_

 

Shikamaru looked up, his face burning. “That would be wisest, sir.”

 

“After all,” the Hokage continued gravely, and he puffed on his pipe, “our choice must be able to _kill_ the kitsune quickly and effectively.”

 

Silence fell over the study once again. The rain drowned out the _tick tick tick_ of the grandfather clock in the corner.

 

Homura folded his arms, resigned. “I still think Hyuuga would be the better choice.”

 

Koharu clucked. “He is formidable, but Uchiha has the _sharingan._ And Hyuuga’s eyes are a dead giveaway.” Her hands fluttered dismissively.

 

“If the kitsune has ventured into our village before, it may very well _recognize_ Uchihal His clan’s reputation precedes him. It might view him as an imminent threat, and by then, we’ll have a battle on our doorstep. Hyuuga, at least, will be able to more easily adopt the role of a runaway-”

 

Koharu squawked. “The Byakugan sticks out like a sore thumb! What kind of nitwit runs away with the caged bird seal? WHO? The Sharingan can be hidden, at least!”

 

Homura waved her away with an angry noise. “Bah! With the aid of the Byakugan, he will also be able to find the kitsune more efficiently, allowing him time to tempt it away from our gates.”

 

Koharu narrowed her eyes, nodding in a rare show of understanding.

 

Shikamaru shrugged. “That may be true, but the Uchihas' sharingan is also one of our best shots against the kitsune in the event of a fight. Although Hyuuga’s techniques are nothing to sneer at. Sending the most efficient over the most beautiful, even if doing so risks igniting the kitsune’s anger, is the better gamble. Sasuke might be recognized, but it’s nothing a good story couldn’t fix. _”_ He thought of the word _efficient,_ and chose not to think, _the most likely to survive._

 

Homura huffed. “I suppose there’s that,” he admitted, reluctantly. “Still, Hyuuga and Uchiha have both proven valiant and valuable. Uchiha, after all, is a lieutenant in the police force.”

 

The group nodded in acknowledgement.

 

“He does have an iron fist,” Koharu said darkly. “Since his brother has put his talents to _waste_ , I will admit such leadership is greatly valued to _stay_ within our walls.”

 

Homura nodded, adding, “However, Hyuuga has also shown great promise, and has caught the attention of both ANBU and ROOT task forces. A jounin promotion is in order for him. We received a letter of recommendation from Might Gai and an official request form has already been mailed to Lord Hiashi.”

 

Shikamaru leaned back in his chair to skate his fingers over the hidden cigarette in his pocket. A recommendation letter for Neji had only been a matter of time.

 

Koharu nodded, sitting lower in her seat as if she was digesting the information. “Uchiha wouldn’t be far behind. He’ll need it to advance in the Justice Department. No doubt Fugaku is biding his time with his youngest.”

 

“So what are we to do?” the Hokage wondered. “They are the only candidates we have left.” Shikamaru raised a brow, wondering how the Hokage and Elder Counsel had weeded out the others.

 

“It would have been three,” sighed Koharu, “ if the girl hadn’t bowed out. No doubt a woman like that could punch _a god_ and live to tell the tale.”

 

“She refused sterilization, what else were we to do?”

 

The Hokage shrugged. “In any case, both candidates are quite capable.”

 

“And both are _very_ beautiful,” finished Koharu sagely.

 

“Still, I wonder who the kitsune would find more appealing?” Homura wondered. It was a perplexing problem. Shikamaru sighed.

 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, rattling the windows. The Hokage stood slowly.

 

“I understand the concerns you all must have.” He looked pointedly at Koharu, who met his gaze challengingly. “But Danzou, even if he is someone we may not agree with regularly, has always kept the interests of the village dear to his heart. You can trust that. ROOT has been working alongside ANBU successfully for a decade now.”

 

Shikamaru fidgeted. He could feel the Elder’s searing gazes and kept his mouth shut. Koharu’s stare grew poisonous.

 

The Hokage sighed. “I agree with Danzou’s decision. Uchiha is the better match.”

 

Homura sputtered. Koharu said nothing at all, only slipped her hands back into her sleeves.

 

Hiruzen packed tobacco into his pipe. “Unless, Homura, you’d rather throw the boys in an arena? Champion gets the kitsune?”

 

Homura scowled, seething, but shook his head curtly. Koharu’s dark eyes landed on Shikamaru. “Well? If you’re to be the Hokage’s assistant you best act like one and take care to participate, boy! Speak up!”

 

Shikamaru sucked on his teeth in thought. There was something else. Something hiding beneath all of this. He wondered if there was another reason both the Hokage and Danzou seemed more at ease with Uchiha beyond the village walls, despite the fact he was more... _temperamental_ compared to Neji’s calm and clinical composure. His brow furrowed, and Shikamaru sighed, relaxing his shoulders.

 

He wouldn’t feel guilty about this, he decided. If Uchiha stood no chance in hell, the Hokage wouldn’t risk the village’s safety by enraging the kitsune, or the life of a prominent clan leader’s son.

 

If they expected the kitsune to feel enraged at all.

 

Finally, Shikamaru nodded. “I agree,” he said slowly. The Hokage smiled. Satisfied, Koharu returned her attention to the Hokage.

 

“Then it is decided.”

 

Homura swore under his breath, grumbling, “It is decided.”

 

“Lord Third.” Shikamaru rose from his seat suddenly, and the Hokage turned to look at him with hooded eyes. There was something that was missing, something Shikamaru wasn’t being told. He was sure of it, and it nagged at him relentlessly.

 

“What if this is a mistake?”

 

Koharu made a little sound in her throat, and Homura hummed, his eyes cut to slits.

 

The Hokage smiled, tucking the tip of his pipe behind his teeth. He turned toward the double doors. “It isn’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of LLF Comment Project, whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
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> This author sees and appreciates all comments, and may not reply, but I will certainly try!


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